


To Himling: Part Fourteen

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [14]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Familly, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 02:26:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: Counsel comes from an unexpected source, but it does little to help a vulnerable Durin in his hour of need.





	1. Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> I've written far ahead in this story, but I'm trying to pace myself with the back-posting so that I don't catch up to myself too quick. I hope you have enjoyed HIMLING thus far. I have many story chapters left to upload before we (finally) set foot on the isle of Himling. Thanks for reading.

_You don’t know us._

Spine plinth-straight, Jera sat on the rug by Dís’ hearth. The despised gown had been swapped for tunic and trousers like her brothers’. Despite the very late night and early rise, she seemed in excellent humor.

_You have no reason to trust us,_ she told the Durins. Yet she held both hands out palm-up, fingers splayed— the sign for sworn candor. _The only pledge I can offer you on behalf of my people is this: we’re stupid._

A chorus of grunts from her brothers, massed outside the spill of firelight. In their midst, Ori - a lamb adopted by a herd of bulls - glanced around in surprise.

_Stupid!_ Fíli had been tamping his breakfast pipe, but now laid it across his knee. _You don’t seem so to me._

_Oh, we are. The elders think so._ Jera’s nostrils twitched. _We don’t know how to pretend, as they do. We have little skill at telling lies. When we say a thing, we’re silly enough to mean it. Worst of all, we’re loyal; we hold to our oaths. Did you ever hear of such foolish folk?_

_I would call such folk true._

Half-acid, half-sweet, Jera retorted: _Then perhaps you think the elders are less so._

Fíli knew not to drop his gaze, but he did pick up his pipe. _Do you?_ he asked.

_I do,_ she declared. _And so should you._

Such cheek would have bought swift rebuke in Thráin’s day. But his court and all its grovelers had perished with him. Jera was frank and open, and again, Fíli liked her— but now it was Nori’s turn to speak.

_The elders call themselves loyal to the Throne of Durin,_ the spy stated, lounging against the wall behind his partner-in-craft. _But that does not extend to its heirs. Thráin’s madness shook their faith. They called Thorin reckless; they say he died a dreamer’s death. Now they think Fíli too headstrong, too difficult to counsel—_

_Or control,_ added Jera.

_Yes. And they blame Ninur for it._

Quiet until now, Dís snapped, _But he is their leader! Has he not always spoken the will of the whole?_

_Perhaps in the past,_ said Jera. _They no longer trust his voice, because they believe he alone has your son’s ear, and he fills it with what he alone wants Fíli to hear._

_Which is?_

Jera’s eyes glittered. _How can I know the mind of an elder? Or of the Heir?_

_I think you know both._ Fíli leavened his stern tone with a smile. _You’ve brought me useful knowledge; I’d like to hear how you came by it._

Kíli slid forward in his seat. A tale was coming, and he did not want to miss any of it, because it would be that much harder to fit its pieces together afterward.

_We daughters of the Spur hardly see the sun,_ Jera began. _Our parents dress us like dolls and lock us up like treasure. Then one day we’re carted off like sows to market— and why? Because Durin has an Heir! _She glanced forgivingly at Fíli. _He can only choose one of us, if he chooses at all, and we’ll have no say in our fate. But while we travel, we’re free. The road is long. The journey is tedious._ Jera turned innocent eyes to Dís. _A girl gets bored._

_Ah,_ said Dís.

_Ah,_ echoed Jera. _Now, some sing when they’re idle, and some play games. Some talk and talk. Me, I listen— and to a good listener, a whisper’s as good as a shout. _She reached behind her and playfully thumped the hard top of Nori’s boot with her freckled fist. _Nori heard the elders whispering, and he didn’t like it. The harder he listened, the softer they spoke. But they never lowered their voices around me. They didn’t even bother to use hand-signs._

_Why not?_ Kíli wanted to know.

_I’m a girl. _She made a mime-show of preening in a mirror, which pulled a laugh from her interrogator. _I might as well have been one of the ponies, for all the elders thought I understood their talk. The things I heard! So interesting, I hated to miss a single word. Soon enough, I didn’t need to._

Dís' expression blended equal parts suspicion and glee. _What did you do?_

_It’s not what_ I _did, I assure you._ Jera primly plucked at her tunic, straightening what was already straight. _During our journey, a friend of mine made eyes at a lad who made eyes back. Nice boy, but no skill at stealth— you’d really think the elders would train their guards better! Anyway, I offered to introduce him to her parents. Wasn’t that neighborly of me? He and I have been dear friends ever since._ Her smile turned wolfish. _Men say WE talk too much._

_I’m glad you talked to me,_ Nori cut in. _Though it took some doing._

_Oh, yes!_ Jera thumped Nori’s boot again. _He claimed to be a lookout, but I knew better—_

_Knew the moment she saw me._

_—so we made our own_ iglishmêk _to speak in secret, and then we convinced everyone we LOATHED one another, which was easy because he was courting ALL my friends—_

_A spy must have a disguise, N_ori protested. _Mine was rake. Yours was governess. It worked well._

_Mim!_ Kíli whispered to Fíli, seizing his arm. _They were playing the keep-away game!_

_And where were all of you while this was going on?_ Dís asked Jera’s brothers.

_Throwing dice._ This from Uri, the eldest. _Another thing the elders don’t teach their servants._

_They don’t pay them much, either,_ added Ruri. _Losers are happy to settle up with talk instead of silver._

Dís pretended to be scandalized. _Does your mother know what you get up to?_

_Mother is from Baraz’abad, _said Ruri.

Dís understood. A certain zest for court intrigue flavored Red Mountain politics. A clever noblewoman from the great eastern kingdom would certainly school her children in the ways of the labyrinth— even while raising them in the high, bright pastures of the Spur.

Adrift in his own maze, Fíli pondered out loud. _It’s Ninur’s task to advise the King. If the elders disagree with his doings, shouldn’t they talk it over with him instead of gossiping amongst themselves?_

_It’s gone beyond gossip, Fíli,_ warned Nori. _The elders spread rumors about Dáin._

Dís struck at this remark like a serpent. _Our kinsman! How do they dare!_

_They doubt and mistrust him. They say he’s tired of being Regent and wishes to be King. They say he, too, has influenced Fíli— souring him against the Crown so as to more easily take it. They spread tales among the Spur-folk—_

_Because we’re stupid,_ cheerful Jera supplied.

_I’d like to see them accuse Dáin face to face!_ Dís pounded fist into open palm. _He comes now from Rivendell to discuss Fíli’s future— let them look him in the eye!_

_They discuss Fíli’s future, too,_ said Nori. With a penknife, he scraped dottle from his pipe bowl into the hearth. _Jera tells me that after I parted from the company, two of the elders met on their own. They spoke of raising Kíli to the Throne, should Fíli fail to do as they bid._

Fíli felt his brother’s body thrum with sudden tension, like a bowstring just before the arrow’s release. He risked a sideways glance and beheld a wall of stone where his _naddith_ had sat grinning only a moment ago.

Dís’ calm took on a similarly dangerous edge. It was one thing for Fíli to abdicate; it was another for him to be overthrown. _Two voices together make idle talk,_ she said. _A third makes it conspiracy; add a plan and people to carry it out, and talk turns into treason. How far has it gone, Nori?_

_Not far. Most remain loyal to Fíli for the sake of his lineage. But they still look to put Kíli to use. They think him dull and docile, easy to steer as they wish him to go. I’m sorry, Kíli; we here all know it’s not true._

Behind that expressionless front, Kíli could be nursing either a broken heart or a hurricane of fury; not even his _yasthûn_ could tell. But Jera would not let him hide; she resolved to root him out.

_Listen, Zirnul!_ she barked— and Fíli startled and stared. _A nickname!_ She’d just given Kíli a nickname! Not even Ori took such liberties. Still, it was apt – _zirnul,_ iron-like – and as any forgefather’s child knows, one must heat, hammer, and harden iron before it proves its worth.

_The elders have a reason for wanting you,_ Jera needled Kíli. _They accuse Ninur of turning Fíli against their counsel. They can’t change this, so they have decided to change you. They know that you hate Ninur, and they mean to use your ill feelings to win this fight._

_I have no ill feelings._ Kíli spoke so quietly, his voice seemed to drift to their ears from leagues away.

_You don’t? I overheard the elders say you refused to be taught by Ninur._

At once, Fíli and Dís shot forward in their seats, protesting, _No, now wait, that isn’t so, what happened was this_— but Kíli’s voice flowed onward, slow and tranquil as river-water. _At first I was af…afraid he’d separate Fíli and me, but now I know he never mm…meant to. He’s been a friend to Fíli; to M-mother too— and so, to me. I have no hate in my heart for him._

_So you won’t be swayed?_ Hearthlight struck angry sparks from Jera’s black eyes. _You’re sure? If you side with the elders, Durin’s Crown and all its power might come to you. Don’t you want it?_

Kíli smiled gently. Then he did the extraordinary. As easily as breathing, he slid from the bench and pressed his forehead to Fíli’s boots. He neither raised his voice nor stuttered as he made the sacred oath: _The life that is mine is thine, my lord._

_Naddith, no,_ Fíli protested— but Kíli only sat back, placed his open hands in his brother’s lap in lieu of a weapon, and waited.

In the shadows, tears leapt to Ori’s eyes. After all that he’d just heard, this completely undid him. He looked around; Jera’s brothers were all similarly spellbound.

Thorin had never asked for nor accepted the rite of fealty from any Khuzd, and Fíli had never seen it offered. He strained to recall the proper rite: cover Kíli’s hands with his own, speak the blessing that transmuted brother into vassal, raise Kíli up, share breath… But as their brows touched, Kíli teasingly whispered, _NOW you’re the King of me_— and Fíli couldn’t help himself, not even in front of the Spur-Dwellers.

If the brothers’ kiss was slightly too deep and fervent, Jera (sitting closest; seeing the most) said nothing.

Rejoining his brother on the bench, Kíli took up Fíli’s ring hand in his own and looked at Jera as if to say, _Now you know my answer._ She leant forward and gaily slapped his shin.

All around the room, people relaxed. Pipes that had been laid aside were taken up again; firesteels sparked and tobacco smoke at last began to billow. Fíli lit his pipe and passed it to Jera, who took an impressively deep drag.

_Enjoy this moment while you can, _she advised him from behind a veil of vapor. _The elders will soon want a word with you._

_I’ll have a few for them,_ Fíli answered.


	2. Gathering

At midmorning, Óin and Glóin and their families arrived. Reluctant to appear childish, Gimli hung back from Kíli until his mother chided him. _Oh, for pity’s sake, hug your cousin as you wish; no one’s taking notice!_

Dori reached Thorinutumnu close to high noon. He and Nori eyed one other like a pair of wary hounds.

_You look different,_ Dori finally declared.

_You look about the same, _Nori replied.

Since both comments were presumably benign, the brothers soon dissolved their latest quarrel in Fenja’s best ale.

At midafternoon, an army invaded Thorinutumnu. Armed with ale kegs and bed rolls, its legions - led by Skili and Hahal - marched from the town forge to the stronghold gates and called for the King’s surrender. When a grinning Fíli appeared on the doorstep, the victory roar rose to the parapets.

A riotous patchwork of tents and ground tarps quickly filled the front yard. Their owners annexed every wall-top, bench, and barrel for seating; a few daredevils climbed trees or rode on each others’ shoulders.

_Youth misspent,_ groused one pinch-lipped elder.

_I believe I saved some of mine,_ Gimli’s mother Minaen spoke side-mouth to Fenja. _I’ll share, if I must._

_He may not recognize what it is you offer,_ replied Fenja.

Cheeks tinted by a hectic flush, Kíli approached Dís at a run. _Mother, they wwww… want to dance! Can, can we ha-have the courtyard? And spare strings? They w-want me and Fíli to play!_

_Yes for the courtyard; I’ll have to look for— Kíli! _Dís called out futilely; already he had darted away. _Slow down! And send Fíli to me to fetch the strings!_


	3. Playing

_One makes a sound, two make a song._

So goes the adage, and for most Khazâd, it means learning music together with their siblings. Dori, Nori, and Ori all studied the pipes; tiny Balin and towering Dwalin played duets on viol and contrabass sized to suit. And while some resent having to share an instrument, Fíli and Kíli never did. They doggedly scraped away at twin fiddles until effort became instinct and struggle became joy.

Thráin’s children had once played the noble harp as a trio, but Frerin’s death infused young Dís with mutiny. Abandoning her harp, she declared she would sing instead. With many a sly glance, Glóin and Óin welcomed her high tenor to their choral circle… which included a smiling blond baritone named Ganin.

All romantic ballads need a chorus. _We harmonized so well together,_ Dís schooled herself to say. But remembering (as Kíli did not) their parents sleeping apart, Fíli at once picked out the false note. Since that morning, it had echoed within him. Now he hovered behind Dís, scuffing one toe against the stone floor.

_I want you to keep close watch on Kíli, _Dís said, crouching to root in a low cabinet. _I think he’s running himself down. His stutter is worse today, did you notice?_

_Yes._

_Make sure he doesn’t drink too much. A few ales are fine._

_I will. Mother… did you…_ In a rush: _Were you forced to marry Father?_

Dís nearly lost her balance. She let out a little squeal, oddly amplified within the cabinet’s small space. Grasping the open door to right herself, she gaped at Fíli openly. _Where did that come from?_

_I was thinking of Jera’s folk and their ways, and I thought…_

_No-ooo!_ Laughter, now. _No one forced me; I chose your father, and I was happy to do so. He was my dearest friend._

More toe-scuffing. _But you had to marry someone._

_That’s true. A King’s daughter can’t wed herself to her craft like other Khuzd women. She must bear children to further the line, and that takes a husband. But who better than a friend to—_ Haaa!

The quest had yielded one set of fiddle strings, at least. Dís passed them up to Fíli, who removed them from their waxed parchment packet and drew them through his fingers.

_Were you and Father fated?_ he persevered.

The hard note in her son’s voice told Dís that the myth had worn thin. Time to let the wind take it. _No, Treasure. He had another half. I saw them come together before he died. It made me very happy._

The young can be breathtakingly callous when they wish; Fíli was callous now. _Even though because of it, you slept alone?_

Dís cast a look of forbearance his way. _Of course. It was a glad pairing, a privilege to witness. How could I not be glad, too?_

At this, Fíli softened. _I wish Mahal had given you a glad pairing._

_I don’t. Some people aren’t meant to receive such a prize. I never went looking, and I never missed it. _

_Never?_

Dís suddenly felt grateful for the shadowy cover of the cabinet. Her son had just undergone the closest to a handfasting he might ever have— and here he stood fretting over her lack!

_Never,_ she assured him. _I already have much._

How could she explain? In her youth she swore never to suffer one crack in her heart only to suffer a thousand. But the light of love – hers for her sons, theirs for each other – had healed her. Mahal had not granted her supreme union with one other, it was true. But he did bless her. Many times over.

_Oi!_ she cried, bright without trying. _More strings; another full set! Now you and Kíli will harmonize, too._


	4. Fires

At the same moment, Jera and Nori stood together in Fenja’s pantry.

Romance between spies yields little that is lyrical. Nori and Jera had enjoyed the mission and each other, but neither wished to marry or settle. Their alliance would soon end with handshakes and well-wishes; it was for the best. That being so, who’d begrudge them one small, stolen interlude? It could well be their last...

Eight decades later, a steady drizzle of questions still fell upon their heads. _Why have you never asked for the other’s hand? How could two Khazâd so well-matched not choose one another?_

_But we did,_ argued Jera in Himling. _We’ve been partners more than half my life now; doesn’t that count?_

_Three dozen missions we’ve run,_ sputtered Nori in Erebor. _Not one ending at the gibbet, and never a quarrel between us. I know her thoughts like my own, and she knows mine. If that isn’t a marriage, then what is?_

_But you lay down at night half the world apart!_

_Aye. Yet there’s no distance in dreams,_ said Nori.

At the moment, Jera cared little for dreams. More pressing matters held her attention.

_Muzm…_ she began.

This was the short form of her nickname for him: _Narag-Labam-Muzm,_ Badger, in honor of his passion for rooting out secrets. _Narag-Labam-Muzm _parses as Black-White-Rude, and while calling a friend _Rude_ might itself be impolite, Jera argued that Nori had the roughest edges of any fellow she’d ever met. _Why ELSE would I like him?_ she said.

_Muzm, tell me. Fíli and Kíli… are they always so…_ Jera laced her fingers in the sign for sweethearts.

_You finally noticed? Some lookout you are._

_I saw but didn’t know how, what, or whether to ask._

_It’s always been that way with them._ Nori lifted one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. _None of us pay it any mind._ He began to wind Jera’s side curls around his two index fingers to draw her closer. Time was short, and farewell was all too near…

But Jera was not easily diverted; she had digging instincts of her own. _They _kissed _each other; did you see?_

Part-scolding, part-amorous: _Don’t people kiss in the Spur?_

Rather than kick Nori’s shin as he deserved, Jera laid her foot gently on top of his. _As you and I kiss, so do Fíli and Kíli. Is that the custom among brothers here?_

Nori became solemn, then. Jera was a stranger to many things he himself took for granted. How to explain what defied explanation? If the truth must out, could he not blur its edges somewhat?

It came to him in a flash: _Haven’t you ever seen _akanâb-barug?

“Bellows-boys” was the name given to a popular toy from Dale. It consisted of two jointed figures, perfectly identical, sharing between them a miniature forge-bellows. The pull of a trigger set them pumping. Really it was the bellows that moved by dint of a hidden wire, but the sight of the two little fellows working smartly in unison made everyone laugh.

_A toy won’t work if it’s missing a part,_ Nori continued. _You can’t have_ akanâb-barug _with only one boy— or no bellows._

_Stop talking in circles, you,_ ordered Jera. _Make a straight line._

_Without his partner, neither boy would have a purpose. Without what’s between them, there’s no meaning to the pair. And if you think about it, without a bellows and two to work it, there wouldn’t be fire for any of us. Our lives would be very dark and cold._ Nori searched Jera’s face for understanding. _What flame doesn’t warm all who stand near it? Who wouldn’t feel glad of its light, however it came to be kindled?_

Again he lifted one shoulder, and after a long thoughtful moment, Jera did the same.

_Fires are sacred wherever we go,_ she agreed, stepping close at last.


	5. Break

Fenja did not even try to organize a proper supper. She divided what food she had in two, served the adults in the feast-hall, and put the rest outdoors to be ransacked. Truth be told, she preferred the latter meal to the former and hung back to see the free-for-all unfold.

When nothing was left but crusts and crumbs, the dancing began.

Khagal’abad music is born of earth and water— slow dirges, misty ballads, vigorous stomps. But the Spur-Dwellers! From them came fire and wind! Every tune ran at breakneck speed like a mine-trolley about to jump its rails. _Keep pace, catch up, or quit!_ said the Spur-Dwellers’ fiddles. _Dance to our tune or die trying!_

Drummers all, Fjôl’s children kept up a punishing rhythm. Ari and Eri beat double-headed snares hung around their necks, while Ruri summoned surf and thunder from a like but larger drum. Uri and Jera favored riddle drums as broad and round as the moon, cross-braced to be held in one hand while struck by the other. All together, they produced a din that lodged in the belly and could only be ousted by dancing.

Jera’s drum was special. Its frame had been drilled and hung with long metal pendants that shimmered and chimed like falling snow. As she drummed, she spun and dipped, whirling so fast her own braids spiraled around her shoulders. The Khagal’abad youngsters mimicked her twirling only to fall over, elated and dizzy, lying on their backs in the dust.

Faster and faster the music skirled until at last Kíli’s bow-hairs snapped. Weary but euphoric, he shouted in Fíli’s ear, _I’m out! I need to wet my throat!_

_Bring a pitcher,_ Fíli shouted back.

As Kíli stumbled through the crowd toward the ale table, the tempo underwent another sudden change, pulling Fíli’s focus back. The frets bit into his fingers; the scent of hot bow-rosin teased his nose. _Fire and wind, fire and wind..._ Higher and higher the tune built toward the break, up and up and up—

_Watch out!_ Torli bellowed beside him, sweating over his double bass as if it were blast furnace. _Here it comes!_

—but through the haze of torch smoke and steam rising from the dancers’ bodies, Fíli spotted Gimli atop a table frantically waving his arms, and suddenly all music drained from his mind.

_Kílimê._

His fiddle rocked like an empty cradle where it landed, pegbox dangling askew like a head from a broken neck.


	6. After

_Was everyone lll…lllooking at me?_

Like a shout rolling through the summer caverns, the evening still vibrated in Kíli’s ears. Now, lying in Fíli's arms, he whispered as if deferring to its clamor.

Fíli knew better than to lie outright, but he also had no desire to tell the full truth. Why light an ill-fated fuse?

_Not everyone,_ he replied, tucking the coverlet more closely around Kíli's shoulders. _Some._

_Did-did-did they think I was drunk? Did they laugh?_

Another truth destined to go untold.

According to Gimli, Kíli had been grinning broadly as he neared the ale table. But all at once he halted, swiveled slightly _(as if he’d remembered something and meant to go back,_ said Gimli) and crumpled to the ground. A few nearby Spur-Dwellers took it for a joke aimed at the tipsy dancers. Gimli rounded on them so fiercely that they actually begged his pardon.

By his own account, Kíli had not been frightened: _I was walking, and there was a white curtain, and I went through it, and then I was here in bed._ But now, troubled by what he could not remember, he turned to self-blame.

_I br… broke my bow in front of everyone— like a _dwarfling, _Mim, and everyone saw._

_And I broke my fiddle; everyone saw that, too. It’s nothing. _A slow, soothing palmstroke from throat to belly. _We’ll use my bow and your fiddle and play together like we did that one time, remember?_

Unconvinced and miserable, Kíli tucked chin against breastbone and said nothing.

_You’d have been so happy with Gimli, Zanid,_ Fíli continued in an attempt to lure his brother back out. _He kept his head and held the others back while Bhurin and Halfur carried you inside._

_Halfur…_ Kíli stared hard into the blackness, trying to match a face to the strange name. Then he gasped and cringed away from Fíli’s gentling hand. _Mim, did, did I sh-_shame _myself, US, in-in-in front of—?_

_Oh, love._ Heartsore, Fíli stroked his _naddith's_ brow, distressed at its waxen feel. If only he could say no, or lie.

If only.


End file.
